


Dance On Our Graves

by Unknown



Category: game of thrones
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence - Red Wedding, Dying together, F/M, Grey Wind and Ghost have babies with other dogs, Growing Old Together, Half-Sibling Incest, M/M, Puppies, Winning the war, following in brienne's footsteps, sibling fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unknown/pseuds/Unknown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: </p><p>Jon and Robb growing old together. Modern AU or canon AU where everyone lives/there is no Red Wedding.</p><p>>>>>></p><p>"I need a personal guard," Robb starts. </p><p>"Yes, I can get my best men on it," Jon says, adamant to please. </p><p>But Robb shakes his head. “I want you, Jon,” he admits. “Arya when she’s old enough as she’s free to pursue the path of Brienne now. But you, I want you as my personal guard. And you won’t say no to the King, will you?”</p><p>Jon is flabbergasted, but breaks out into a smile. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”</p><p>And so it is settled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance On Our Graves

**Author's Note:**

> Another prompt from Jon/Robb Week over on tumblr.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Robb returns from the war a king. He is tired and broken, and the first thing he does is request his brother down from the Wall. Jon doesn’t know it’s Robb calling, thinks he’s still taking King’s Landing. The news of the victory hasn’t reached them yet. 

So it’s worth it to see Jon’s entire act of a strong, tough Lord Commander of the Nights Watch to drop as he breaks into a run to pull Robb into his arms. 

"You did it," he says into his brother’s hair. "Gods, you  _did_  it.”

Robb laughs. “Did you doubt it?”

"Never," Jon says and he cries because their father - rest his soul - always taught them to be at peace with their emotions and to have no shame for them. 

Robb tells him of Catelyn’s demise, how the girls are on their way home as they speak, how the kingdom of Winterfell is his to rule. 

"I need a personal guard," Robb starts. 

"Yes, I can get my best men on it," Jon says, adamant to please. 

But Robb shakes his head. “I want you, Jon,” he admits. “Arya when she’s old enough as she’s free to pursue the path of Brienne now. But you, I want you as my personal guard. And you won’t say no to the King, will you?”

Jon is flabbergasted, but breaks out into a smile. “I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

And so it is settled. 

* * *

Ten years later finds them in the same position, this time going over battle tactics against the Iron Islands. 

"You don’t know Theon like I do," Jon insists. 

"He was my friend. YOu two never even liked each other," Robb says. 

“ _Exactly_!” Jon snaps. “I know how much of a slimy eel he is! I know how he can be and I am  _telling_ you, he  _isn’t_  going to listen to his father. The Iron Borns will go for our coast town’s but Theon is going to come  _here_ , to the heart of things. His ambition will not be satisfied otherwise. Alert our banner-men on the coasts, then. But alert those inland to come here. We’re going to need them.” 

Robb is in council, several important representatives sitting in with him. They look to him in suspicion but Jon is the only one he is seeing. He could make a decision and lose Jon and the castle, or he could make one and keep them both. 

"Alert the banner-men on the coasts," he says and the reps start to protest. But Robb holds up a gloved hand and they hush. "Tell those inland to come to Winterfell. We’ll prepare the citadel for them. And for the old god’ sake, keep this quiet." He looks askance at Jon. "We won’t want Theon to be alerted to what we’re doing."

* * *

Jon is right. 

Robb drags him into a bloody stable to press kisses into his sweaty, dirt-ingrained skin. Outside, Theon Greyjoy lays dead in the mud, as do his men. The Iron Born are pulling away from the coast and the only Greyjoy heir alive, a daughter as far as Robb knows, is coming to make a treaty. 

"I told you," Jon says breathlessly, and Robb needs to kiss him again.

* * *

Sansa marries a few years later to a southern family of high repute. As far as Robb and Jon can tell, the two young people have genuine affection for each other.

At the wedding feast, Robb is pulled aside by the groom’s mother, a stout, warm woman with only the best in her heart. They chat amiably for a few moments, Jon close by, before the woman clears her throat awkwardly.

"May I ask Your Grace a personal question?" she requests. 

Robb laughs and Jon smiles. “You may ask me whatever you please. We are family. And please, call me Robb.”

"Robb," she says with a little trill of thrill. "I must inquire out of curiosity, if it isn’t too bold to say, but… when are you going to marry and make alliances?" Jon feels his stomach knot at the question and turns towards the conversation. "I mean to say, you are thirty winters old? That is gaining."

"Thirty-five," Robb corrects. "And it is. Alas, there is something that prevents me from thrusting myself as a partner onto any family." And now Jon is interested. 

"And what would that be, Your Grace?" she asks, startled. 

"I am sterile," Robb says and Jon blanches. 

"Your Grace?" she gasps. 

"During the war," Robb continues, the words falling smoothly from his lips. "When I fought for my throne, I was captured and tortured." He pauses. "Among other things, my captors castrated me. Now, I would not wish to be a burden onto any lady of a well-known house, nor any other."

"But… what of an heir?" 

"Currently, my brother and captain of the guard, Lord Commander Jon Snow of the NIghts Watch, is my heir. After he passes, as we are of the close age,  my brother Bran and then Rickon are heirs and their sons will take the throne." He smiles politely. "Does this answer your question?" She seems tongue tied, but she nods, sends her condolences and leaves. Jon takes her place, giving his brother an odd look. "What?" Robb says, drinking from his chalice and looking to the party. He waves at Arya, who is Jon’s right hand and doing a perimeter check, before he looks back. 

"I’ve seen your cock," Jon says lowly. "And there is nothing castrated about it." He frowns. "You’re not a eunuch Robb."

"No one else knows that," Robb says with a shrug and a smug smile. "And I’m sure our new mother-in-law doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. By next week, the whole Kingdom of the North will know, and by the next, the Kingdom in the South will know as well."

"And King Robb Stark will be officially off the market," Jon says slowly. "I don’t understand why you’ve just ruined your chances for a queen."

"Do you want me to have a queen, Jon?" Robb asks softly. 

"No," Jon says. He pauses. "Wait, you did this for me?"

"I don’t want anyone but you," Robb says his voice low. "I told you, I don’t want anyone but you."

"Oh," Jon says, feeling something flutter in his chest. He smiles. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Robb says with an eye roll. 

* * *

It’s a bit of a surprise that Bran marries before Arya, but then, it was always a draw between the two of them. Who would marry first: the female knight or the cripple, both undesirables of the upper courts? 

But it’s Bran, and his wife is a lovely girl from the east, a close confidant of Queen Daenerys Targaryen. She’s noble, which is a plus, and brings such light to the cold of Winterfell, that she soon becomes a favorite of Robb and Jon. Middle aged now, they delight in the children Sansa has bred and reared, constantly bringing the little ones to the castle to spend some time with them. 

"How does it even work?" Jon asks with a snicker. He’s rocking Sansa’s two year old while Robb and Clarida, Brann’s new wife, sit on the floor and play with the two older children, aged four and five. 

"He lays back and I take the reigns," she laughs and Robb snorts. Brann and Rickon are out hunting with Sansa’s husband Dirks, while Sansa takes a rest in the guest chambers, her belly full of their fourth child. Arya takes the lead with the guard tonight as part of the training and grooming that Jon has her performing for his position, which she’ll take when he retires. 

"So when will  _you_  be giving us nieces and nephews?” Robb teases. Clarida is silent and ducks her head, a blush painting her cheeks. Jon chokes out a laugh.

"No!" he exclaims. "Already? Congratulations!"

"Well done, Lady Clarida!" Robb says, rubbing her back. "You are currently carrying the future king of Winterfell. How do you feel?"

"Sick. Every morning," she groans and they all share a laugh. The children start to tire and fall asleep on the furs that line the floor, the baby asleep in Jon’s arms. Robb stares at Jon in adoration, in the adoration he reserves only for his brother. Jon has fallen asleep as well. 

Robb jumps when he feels a gentle hand on his arm. He looks down at the pale hand and then up at Clarida. Her face is poised in understanding. A lump forms in his throat. He has a feeling, and he can’t shake it. 

"It’s alright," she assures him. "I won’t tell a soul." Ah, so she’s figured it out. "There is nothing to be ashamed of. He is only half your blood." She pauses. "The Targaryens did it all the time to keep the bloodline pure."

"He is not a woman, nor would our bloodline be pure if he was," Robb says stiffly. But he can’t bring himself to be truly angry with her. After all, she was just being observant. 

"You know as well as I do that Margery Tyrell and the children she shares with Renley Baratheon are all for show and that Loras Tyrell is the one who is  _truly_  in his bed during the cold nights and in his heart during the long battles,” she says dryly. “I see no difference here. And you are not hurting others, as the Lannister Twins did.” Her voice is tight in contempt, no doubt thinking of her husbands disability and the role Jamie and Cersei Lannister played in it’s creation. “I’ll not tell a soul. But I can tell you love each other and it is a beautiful thing.”

"Thank you," is all Robb can say. They sit together in silence afterwards.

* * *

Arya does marry, but it is later in life, when Jon and Robb have thick lines of silver in their hair mixing with their reddish brown and chestnut colors. 

She comes in one day, armor shined and tidy, hair short and clean. She looks straight ahead and lets out a shaky sigh before saying, “Permission, Your Grace and Lord Commander, to speak freely and as a member of the House of Stark.” She swallows. 

"Permission granted, Ser Arya Stark," Robb says. His crown comes off and Jon unscrews his Hand of the King pin. "What’s wrong, Arya?"

She looks nervous for a moment before swallowing hard and saying, “Ser Rafton Connley of House Karstark has asked for my hand in marriage.” Arya looks away. “I should very much like to accept. I know that once I became a knight and expressed my disinterest in royal duties as a princess or lady of any kind, you released me of my duty. Yet, I feel as though it is out of respect that I ask for your blessing and permission to accept his proposal.” She stops and stands to attention, looking straight ahead, lower lip quivering. By any house’s standards, Arya is an ‘old maid’. The fact that someone wants to marry her and she wants to accept means a lot, as Arya is no fool and would not marry someone wishing to use her for gains or anything else. 

Jon laughs. Robb joins in. Arya frowns. 

"I never thought I’d live to see the day little Arya Stark wanted to get married," Jon teases and Arya scowls, relaxing and crossing her arms. 

"Me neither. Wait, Jon, you must check. Has another war erupted? Are the White Walkers back? Has the Wall melted?" Robb snickers. "I swear it’s the end of the world, a proper apocalypse."

"I hate you both equally," Arya says, but she’s trying not to smile. "So?"

"Of course you can marry Ser Whats-His-Face!" Robb says, standing up and making his way to her. He hugs her, Jon not far behind. "Congratulations, love."

Jon joins on the hug and they all share a moment of pure happiness. Then Arya clears her throat and steps back, hands folded behind her back. “Right.I’ll inform him at once and have Sansa make preparations.” At this she rolls her eyes, then turns to Jon. “Why haven’t you taken a wife? You’re fit, able and the King’s Hand. Who wouldn’t want you?”

"I’m also a bastard and Lord Commander of the Nights Watch. To answer your questions, _no one_  wants me. And anyway, I’m not expected to marry, young lady. That whole take no wife, father no sons bit in my vows. So watch it,” Jon says playfully, catching Robb’s eye and winking.

She laughs and runs out with a jump in her step, screaming, “I’m getting married!!”

Robb turns to Jon then, pulling him closer to wind his arms around the man’s neck. “I want you,” he says. “Silly man.”

"Well, you don’t count," Jon teases and kisses him because he can. 

* * *

When Arya gives birth to her first (and only, as they later find out) child - a son, thank the gods - Rickon marries a girl from House Bolton. With all of their siblings married and having children, Jon and Robb feel their age bearing down. They are, by all standards, getting old. 

"I feel ancient," Jon says, stretching out in bed with his brother. Their siblings all have their own manors with the exception of Arya and her family as they live in the homes especially made for the palace guard that both she and her husband are a member of. 

"I’m older," Robb quips. 

"We don’t actually know that," Jon points out. "I could have been born premature or something." 

Robb pinches his side. “Shut up. We’d have been able to tell,” he insists. “Your eyes would be too close together or.. or you wouldn’t have eyebrows or  _something._ " They both laugh and at the foot of their bed are the wolf-mixes that were the result of Grey Wind and Ghost breeding with local bitches. They are still elegant and beautiful like their fathers, though, and both give a few barks before settling. 

"I’m alright with being old," Jon says suddenly. He turns on his side. "I’ve spent most of my time with you."

Robb smiles.

* * *

They rule the kingdom together, justly and kindly, with a firm but merciful hand. Their subjects love them, their allies look up to them, and their enemies respect them. They are known as the King and his Hand, and never anything else. When one speaks of Robb, they speak of Jon, for one would be nothing without the other. 

So when Robb falls ill, his hair grey and his bones frail, the word that cycles through the kingdom is, “The King is ill and his Hand is by his side every hour,” and nothing less. 

Jon does stay by Robb’s side every hour, making sure he has company, even when he sleeps. In the night, he shares a bed with the man, and in the morning sits in a chair by his bedside. They speak, they plan, they make ready all the things that need to be made ready. 

Because they know Robb is fading. And they accept this truth. 

"I don’t think," Jon says, "that in all of these years I have told you that I love you. In the way that a man loves a woman, I love you, Robb." It is late. Robb is tired and there is something heavy in their air. 

"I know," Robb says. "You never had to say it, you always showed it. But I do - I do love you too." He coughs and Jon is too old and tired for the amount of pain it brings him, wracks through his body. "In  _that_  way,” he clarifies.

Jon nods because, like Robb, he has always known. 

"I know," he assures the dying man. "I’ve always known."

* * *

Robb, who had in fact been the first to enter this world - though neither man had known it for sure - is the first to leave it. He dies in the early morning of the next day. Jon is crowned King in the North even as the land mourns the loss of their former ruler. But they made plans, plans for both their passing because Jon has told Robb in those few hours, the truth. 

"I can’t live without you," he had said to his brother. "I will not last the day." 

He does not. 

Clarida finds him later that night, cold and dead by Robb’s still form where it lays on the stone slab for the viewing of the kingdom the next morning. She is not surprised, but full of sadness as she calls for help. Jon’s body is prepared and laid beside Robb’s. The plans they had made are found bound by twine near Jon’s body. 

The next morning, Jon’s death is announced and Brann is crowned king, Clarida queen. They read the last wishes of his brothers and comply with every one. Among them, the most important, that the brothers be laid in the Stark family crypt together, as most married couples are. Brann does not question it, but instead has it done. He waves one last goodbye to his brothers as their final resting places are sealed. 

And that is the end of Robb Stark and Jon Snow.

"They lived good lives. They had much happiness," Brann says, letting out a shuddering breath. Sansa nods, as does Arya. 

"They had  _each other_ ,” Clarida says wisely. And that seems to make the most sense of all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can visit the blog at youngwolfandthebastard on tumblr.com


End file.
